


Not Lost

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 09:58:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes all you can do is run away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Lost

## Not Lost

#### by Terri

Author's website: <http://www.whitelies.net/terri/>  
I don't own them, never have, never will.  
Thanks go as always to Starwatcher for beta reading.  
Written for the second round of Sentinel Secrets.  


* * *

At first there's plenty to say, babbling chatter filling the air, mixing with the scent of summer that flows through the truck, in one window and out of the next with the breeze. It causes Blair to swipe at his face, pushing back the hair the blows in his eyes as he tucks up one leg, scuffed boot resting on the seat. Any other time Jim would say, *`feet belong on the floor, Sandburg'*, but he feels relaxed today, content to keep driving. His hands are loose on the steering wheel and he's listening as Blair talks about anything and everything, his voice ever constant and as warming as the early morning sun that creeps over the horizon, brilliant and blazing red. 

"Hey, Jim. Are we going to stop for breakfast or eat on the road?" Blair twists in his seat and rests his hand on Jim's arm, casually running his thumb over the skin. "It's just, there's a great waffle house coming up. All-you-can-eat pancakes and the best syrup you've ever tasted. Limitless refined sugar and coffee so thick you could stand a spoon in it; there isn't a better way to start the day." 

"Really?" Jim asks, and he takes a quick look at Blair, noticing the way the sun tints his skin red as he settles back in his seat, smiling as if he knows what Jim's about to say. "If that's the case why do you drink those disgusting shakes? I'd rather see you eat pancakes instead of that pond water you drink." 

"Two things." Blair is smiling wider now, his eyes sparkling as he holds up his hand, two fingers held up straight. "One, it's not pond water and you know that. Two, we're on vacation and that means I get to eat what I want. Come on Jim, all-you-can-eat pancakes, you know you want to." 

Jim struggles to keep a straight face as Blair raves over the pancakes and syrup, his hands flying more the longer he talks. Jim could tell him they were going anyway but that's no fun, so he keeps driving before abruptly indicating a left turn. As he swings the truck across the road all Jim can smell is syrup. The sticky scent is better than any directions as he follows the smell on the breeze, his stomach rumbling at the imagined feast to come. 

"You were coming here all the time." Blair says, shaking his head as realization dawns as they pull into the parking lot. "You could have told me you knew this place." 

All Jim does is smile. It's the best syrup he'd ever tasted; of course he'd come. 

* * *

Hours later and there's still plenty to say; the thing is, they don't need to. Jim feels good as they speed along the road, stomach still full from breakfast and the radio playing his favorite songs, making him tap his fingers against the steering wheel as he takes up the beat. 

Blair holds a book in his hands, but he's not reading. Instead he leans against the metal of the door and his curls trail out the window, streamers of dark against the grey of the road. He's breathing deep, not asleep but not awake either, his eyes closed behind dark sunglasses, and Jim can't help reaching out to touch, resting his hand on Blair's thigh. 

"I hope you're watching the road." 

Blair's voice is low and heavy with amusement and, even as he looks to the side, Jim knows Blair will be watching him, eyes sparkling and mouth quirked in a smile. 

"I am capable of driving without needing to watch you, Chief," Jim says dryly, and he looks forward once more, aware at all times of Blair's gaze. 

"Which is great with me, anything that keeps your eyes on the road is a good thing. I'd like to go home in the same truck we left in for once." 

"I haven't totaled that many trucks." Jim grins at Blair's amused snort and holds up a hand. "And before you start I don't need a list, or I'll suddenly remember how many things you've destroyed." 

"You know, answering like that could be said to be a classic defense mechanism, deflecting attention from your faults to mine. But you're right, we'll leave it there." Blair mimes pulling a zipper across his mouth then lays his hand on Jim's. "I'm glad we got this time away." 

Accepting the change of subject, Jim takes another quick look at Blair, the way he's looking into the distance as his fingers tap out a beat against the door. 

"I guess we're running away. At least I am." Blair laughs shortly, and as happens so often lately, the atmosphere changes within seconds, becoming heavier as wounds too painful to hide finally appear. 

Jim keeps driving, always focusing ahead, concentrating on the road as the miles flash by. He wants to comfort Blair, tell him things will be fine, but there's no point in lies. They've learned that the hard way, weeks of whispers finally driving them away. Because Blair's right, he _is_ running away, except where he runs Jim will follow, however far that might be. 

"It's not that I don't want to be with you. It's just..." Blair trails off and, for a moment, his misery is so obvious Jim feels he's choking on it. "It's not you, Jim." 

"I know," Jim replies, twisting his hand on Blair's thigh so their fingers link together. "I never thought it was." 

They leave it at that, unspoken words filling the air as Jim drives, heading who knows where. 

* * *

"Do you want me to drive for a while? Your leg must be aching by now." 

Jim considers. His leg does ache, but at the same time he doesn't want to let Blair drive. It feels better to do it himself, which has nothing to do with actual driving, but everything to do with keeping some control in this whole insane situation. Not that he tells Blair that; he's confused enough without knowing how adrift Jim feels too. 

"I'm fine, but I think we'll stop for lunch; those sandwiches you made sound good about now." 

"You're always hungry," Blair says with a grin, but he's twisting in his seat as he says it, putting away the book he's been pretending to read. "Where are we, anyway?" 

Jim looks around at the countryside that surrounds them. "I'm not exactly sure," he admits. 

"Are you telling me we're lost?" Blair asks with a laugh. 

"We're not lost, because to be lost we'd need to be going somewhere to get lost going to. Since we're driving at random, we're not lost at all." It's a lame excuse and Jim knows it, but anything is better than admitting how he drove without thinking, taking turns at random as he became lost physically and in his own thoughts. 

"That's fuzzy logic there, Jim," Blair says, but he says no more, just sits with a grin as Jim looks ahead until he sees a place to park. 

The sun is high overhead when they step outside and the heat hits Jim hard, blasting against his skin as he takes the cooler from the backseat to carry it to the shade. Blair follows with a blanket, spreading it out with a flick of his wrist so they can both sit, backs against the trunk of the ancient tree. 

It's peaceful here and Jim closes his eyes, content to listen to Blair opening boxes, birds high above, an animal rustling through the grass -- normal things far removed from the poisoned whispers they've left behind. It's a relief to relax like this, sunlight dappling through the leaves, the wind against his skin, Blair at his side, and Jim slips into sleep, the knot inside easing for the first time in weeks. 

"Jim. Jim." 

Jim bats at the thing tickling his nose and opens his eyes to see Blair smiling and holding a blade of grass. 

"Sorry, but you've been asleep for hours. You need to eat before we move on." 

The sun seems much lower in the sky when Jim looks, and he double checks with his watch. "You let me sleep for three hours." 

Blair shrugs, twisting the grass around his fingers. "You needed it, and like you said, we're not going anywhere in specific." 

"I suppose," Jim says, and he takes the plastic plate Blair hands him. "There's no sprouts on this is there?" 

"Would I do that?" Blair tries to protest his innocence, giving up at Jim's look. "They're roast beef, just how you like them." 

Giving thanks with a small smile, Jim takes a bite, savoring the taste of fresh bread combined with the meat. Every bite is good, and he enjoys each one as Blair tucks up his legs, arms wrapped around them as he looks into the distance. 

"While you were asleep I've been thinking." Blair looks over, making sure he has Jim's attention before carrying on. "These last weeks have been hard. You know that as well as anyone. I though I could roll with anything life dealt me, but I was wrong. I know nothing happens randomly and everything has a reason, but knowing that and living it are two different things. I wasn't meant to be a cop, Jim." 

Jim puts down his plate, even the thought of eating too much now as he looks at Blair. He knows this routine, but knowing he's about to be left doesn't ease the hurt. All it does is allow him to push back the devastation while he busies himself scraping his plate as he searches for ways to tell Blair his decision is okay. That he loves him enough to let him go. "Will you be moving next to Naomi? She'd like that." 

"What? No." Blair looks at Jim, his emotions obvious in his face. Shock, puzzlement, understanding and finally resignation as he moves to kneel in front of Jim. "She would like that but I'm not going anywhere, not permanently at least." 

"I thought --" 

Blair cuts Jim off. "That's your problem; you think too much then jump to the wrong conclusions. You really have to stop doing that." Blair rests his hands on Jim's knee and shakes his head. "I wasn't meant to be a cop, but that doesn't mean it can't happen. Nothing's set in stone except for one thing. Where you are, I'll be at your side. I'm not saying I'll enjoy the Academy, or even finish it, but I'll give it a good try. The old proverb `what doesn't kill you makes you stronger' has some truth, and we're not dead. Not by a long shot." 

Relief rushes through Jim's body and he can't help pulling Blair to him, holding him close in an awkward embrace. "I'll be there every step of the way." 

"I know," Blair says, and he kisses Jim, a soft slide of skin against skin before pulling back with a smile. "I wouldn't expect anything else." 

The belief in Blair's voice is everything Jim needs and he kisses him again, a quick peck to the side of his nose before twisting so Blair falls to the ground. 

"Your romance skills suck," Blair announces with a laugh. 

"They do," Jim agrees and he reaches for Blair's hand, squeezing it once. "Now pass me the sandwich box. I'm still hungry and we've still got a week's vacation; we might as well keep running." 

"As long as we end up at home when we're finished." 

"We will." That's the one thing Jim's sure of, that whatever happens they'll always end up at home. That's a given. 

* * *

End Not Lost by Terri: turps33@btinternet.com  
Author and story notes above.

  
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